Fuck being a Valentine….

It’s that time of year again when “they” sell love in the form of gifts with the promise of passion and romance. Where lonely hearts are thought to seek desperate solitude in lonely boxes of chocolates and trashy romance. Perhaps the flirty singles are bidding to make dates and hook up while their friends judge with jealous and self-righteous opinions.

I have Lukewarm reservations about Valentine Day and no, I’m not some scorned woman who secretly needs romance. I have plenty of what I need throughout the duration of my relationship to need not focus romance on one specific day. I don’t need a dead flower to throw away, or another box of chocolates. (I have a steady supply, always.)

I am, though, a romantic. I think. It might mean something different to me, however. I prefer passion that is a slow burn, with short bursts of fire as if being exposed to oxygen. I guess I’d have to, right? I’ve been in the same relationship for 13 years!

I’m fascinated by romance, whether I am watching it portrayed in movies or TV shows or if I’m soaking it up through the pages of stories I read. Often it brings me questions to see how my perception of love aligns.